After Burn
by Joelcoxriley
Summary: A horrid disease breaks out that threatens the very existence of the Realms. Dragons, in all their superiority, are affected the most, and lose their minds and sense of morality as they hunt in a never ending quest to sate their hunger. For Spyro and Cynder, having a heartbeat has never been so dangerous.
1. Chapter 1

Breath parted from dry and cracked lips, scattering the ashen crystals that lay upon the charred ground in a film of glittering death. Wisps of fire cracked along the distant skyline, echo strong and everlasting as the blaze sputtered out black smoke which had blended with the cold night sky. The cloud of ash was so intense it was suffocating, and had blocked out the twin moons of this strange world, tainting the air.

She breathed, yet she did not need to. It would be merciful to not breathe, for the crystalline ash fluttered within her breath and stung her throat and lungs. Indeed, the fiery snow coated her blood kissed hair, paling the color to a dull, tasteless grey as she lay prone upon the ground. Fair skin was charred and caked with a grim of filth, blood and cinder, though it was nothing she took notice to-nor to her attire-which was burnt, torn, and shredded by ravenous reptilian claws.

In truth, the woman could not tell if she were dead or alive. The pain she had felt from the dragon's flame and putrid talons indicated she was, in fact, alive. But her heart said otherwise, for it did not beat. A strange occurrence, but it did not matter. No, it did not matter.

Her crimson irises hid behind closed lids, the smoke and ash irritating her eyes. Slowly she revealed her gaze, pupils glowing and illuminating the harsh light of the flames. Up, down, all around they were, the forest set ablaze by savage breath. The fires hurt her sensitive sight, and as much as she wanted to close them, she could not. She was not ready to die. Not yet.

Muscles stiff and body sore, the woman slowly shifted, feeling her fingers still tightly clutching the grip of the 10mm pistol under her weight. They were so tight she had lost all feeling in her fingers. Slowly, her other hand reached outwards and clawed upon the ash, glittering like enraged snow. She cinders burnt her calloused hands, yet the captive ashes fell from her grasping hand in lazy chucks or fine powders, staining her palm.

Pain wrung out from her side, the talons of a drake having skewered her attire and flesh. It was of a concern, yes, but she had far greater things to worry about. Ash was applied to the wound. The wound would slow in blood flow. The slow of blood flow would be less likely to attract them. But she knew better. They would come. Just like they always would. And she would kill them. Not because she had to, but because they were all she had, and she was all they had. Who ever claimed a mother could not kill her own children could never have been so wrong. Not when it meant saving a very select few.

The woman's knees shifted, and she stiffly rose to her feet, calves shaking. She would have been lying if she claimed she did not hear it-or rather-feel it. The presence of the beast. The dragon's guttural breath stank of decay and blood, serpentine tongue flickering upon her ash laden hair and nape.

Her grip upon the pistol tightened, and in one swift motion, the woman pushed upon the barrel of the small handgun, a single bullet springing into the chamber. Skillfully, gracefully she had pivoted, and aimed the barrel at the beast as it breathed, wrath and smoke pouring from its open maw.

For a brief moment, there was silence.

For an eternity, there lay oblivion.

Broken by one sound:

Fire.

* * *

 _The After Burn_

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 **Chapter One down, an unknown amount to go. I only own what I own; which is this plot, and the woman. It will make much more sense as time goes on. Trust me.  
**

 **Either way, I needed to write something. Anything. So I wrote this. I need more ambition to get writing again. You kiddies have fun. Thank you.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, all! Italics represent visions. Things may still be choppy, and the plot may be a bit slow, but everything will fall in place in time.**

* * *

"Spyro..." A gentle voice cooed, tender and loving, as if sweet honey, "Spyro...come on, sleepy head. Rise and shine!"

Purple hued lips shifted, slumbering pupils dancing under their protective sheaths. A soft groan escaped the male, and his eyes lazily opened, pupils adjusting to the harsh rays of the golden sun. The light spilled from a nearby window, breaking through the linen tapestries that fluttered to and fro in the gentle morning winds. The heavenly radiance spilled upon Cynder's lithe form, the warm touch of the skies caressing her exposed scales that the purple drake admired so much. Indeed, the black dragoness lay next to the male, Cynder's scales gleaming a healthy and proud shine-the female no doubt in her prime.

The morning rays illuminated Spyro's purple hued scales as well, though his eyes had struggled to adjust to the new light as he felt Cynder glide her damp and hot tongue over his hardened brow, "Good morning, Spyro. Back from Never Never Land?"

"Ngh...Good morning to you, too, Cynder. Is there a reason you woke me? Is...something wrong?" A slow drawl slipped from the purple drake's maw, not yet out of his stupor.

"You were baring your fangs and growling. I assume you were having a nightmare. Was it of Malefor?" The black dragoness questioned, concern in her voice, emerald eyes shining with worry.

"I was? But...no. I'm sorry, Cynder...I don't quite remember what it was about. It's gone already. I do feel better though, today. I think the fever went down from last night." Spyro spoke, feeling Cynder press her snout against his brow, checking his temperature.

"I would say so, yes. You are a lucky dragon." The female commented, Spyro chuckling softly, "Yes, I am. At least I can make my speech coherent at the Council today."

The onyx dragon looked upon her partner, facial muscles shifting into a reptilian smile, "Of that, I have no doubt, Spyro. Ignitus would be proud."

"I think so too, Cynder." The drake smiled, stretching lazily before slipping off the mound of plush pillows and quilts, calloused paws hitting the ground. A sudden jolt of sharp pain resounded within his skull, swift and intense. Spyro grunted, eyes squinting and canines baring.

Then came the flashes:

 _She did not believe that Shadows drew breath. Not even whilst hiding in a closet with a boy not a year above her own. Tender flesh had pressed against flesh, breath drawing from both parties in swift, shallow gasps. At times their breaths had completely stilled-an act the interlocked youths did not process as a slick film of chilled sweat covered their persons. The moment of physical vulnerability would be deemed intimate had they not been shaking in each other's hold, the dim, almost nonexistent glow of a dying candle the only light source that had broken through the closet's locked door, wooden boards uneven and splintered._

Cynder's emerald irises once more looked upon her mate in worry, brow furrowing upon seeing him in pain, "Spyro, are you alright? Maybe you should lay down and rest?"

The male shook his head, though a low groan escaped his maw, "No...no, I'm fine...I'm-ugh!"

 _The pair of adolescents stared through the slivers of cracks in the wooden boards, the resident of the humble shack subdued to a flimsy chair and stripped of clothing. A film of sweat glistened upon the creature's lean body, the rope upon his hands rough and jagged upon his wrists and tied far too tight, blood trickling upon the floorboards. The man's breathing came in swift, shallow gasps, as if he could not breathe out of the fear that was clenching his chest tightly shut. Blonde strands of hair had fallen chaotically in front of his face, obscuring his vision. He was not sure what was worse: seeing the woman, or knowing she was there, watching, waiting, but unable to sense where in the deafening silence._

"Lay down, Spyro. Just take it easy, now...perhaps it is the fever acting up again? Or maybe you are just nervous?" Cynder suggested, though gently ushered her mate to lay upon their nest of cloth and pillows, Spyro keeping his eyes closed.

"No...No, Cynder-I-I see...flashes-!" A strangled groan ruptured from the purple male, muscles tense.

 _And indeed, the woman stood there, black robe lying upon her frame and hood shrouding any features. The slightest tilted decline of her head had indicated that the robed woman was watching her quarry with interest, head cocking. The dull light from the dying candle produced a faint glimmer and flash of cold iron within her bony hand, yet she did not wield it threateningly. Not yet, for her gloved fingers held the pommel lax, as if the dagger were ready to drop onto the floor were she to loosen her grip any further. The Silencer looked upon the trapped man for several minutes, boots beginning to echo against the hollow floor as she placed one foot in front of the other almost thoughtfully, skulking and creeping around the man as if she were a predator readying to strike._

 _A tongue slathered against her own dry lips, the woman's eyes observing the man's muscles tense and ripple with every break in rhythm of her slow stroll. Her eyes had fallen to the trickle of blood that was slowly draining from his wrists, nostrils flaring to inhale the scent of blood-a particular taste she could never seem to sate. The woman meandered until she came to the man's front once more, a cold leather hand lightly caressing his jaw and cheek, almost affectionately so as she encouraged the man to raise his gaze upon her. When the bound man raised his head to look upon her, she ran her thumb gently along his cheekbone. He spat in her face._

Cynder frowned, draping a wing over Spyro to show that she was there, feeling helpless as her partner flinched. The female kept her wing firmly over Spyro, cooing and reassuring him that everything would be fine.

 _The sudden spray of saliva sent the woman shrinking back within herself, a leathered hand rising to wipe the bodily fluid from her face, a film glistening upon her fingers. She turned her gaze upon the man, finger shaking slowly before the woman had regained her previous posture. Once more she began to circle the tied man, footfalls slow and thoughtful, almost teasing. The male tensed upon feeling a cool hand run along his back, shoulders and nape, feminine fingers massaging his strained flesh. It was then he could feel her nails digging into his skin through the black leathers. She was warning him, and the warning was simple. Never do that again._

Slowly, the pain subsided and the flashes dulled, Spyro's chest heaving in strained strides as heated breath escaped from his maw, "Ancestors..."

"It's alright, Spyro. It will be alright." Cynder tenderly glided her blackened scales against the male's purple, the other laying limply upon the nest. Whatever he saw, it had drained most of his energy.

The female continued to sooth the male, not willing to speak of the matter unless Spyro himself was. She knew the fated dragon would get...visions-for a lack of better words-from the Chronicler. Whatever Spyro saw, she assumed it was from the Guardian of Time.

"Cynder...Ancestors, I..." The dragon gasped, muscles tense as he shook his head once more, "I...I don't even know what I saw."

The black dragoness frowned, nuzzling Spyro, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The purple male shuttered, stealing himself, "I saw...creatures. They were in a closet, and they were scared. They were hiding from...someone, maybe something. They looked like...like Cheetah's almost, but...they had no fur save for their heads, had...no ears or tail. They were...something. And...one was trapped by another. And...that's all I remember. It's cloudy. I just, I just don't understand what it means, Cynder."

"Perhaps you aren't meant to, Spyro, not now. In time, perhaps you will understand what the Chronicler is trying to tell you?" The female suggested, trying to ease the purple drake, "For now, don't worry about it. Just get some rest, my love. I will be here if you need me."

Spyro forced a strained and tired smile as the male felt Cynder press her snout against his jaw as a sign of affection. The purple drake exhaled deeply, muscles relaxing upon her tender touch.

"Thank you, Cynder."

"Shhh. Go to sleep." The black wyrm once more cooed, her partner unable to resist the lull of peaceful slumber.

A peaceful slumber, however, was far from what the young hero received, for the visions had returned to reap:

 _He had felt her hold upon him, tantalizing his aroused flesh and teasing with soft pinpricks of comfort, a gloved finger-now warm from his own flesh-lightly toiled with the strands of his hair. The man tried to ignore her affections, though could not help in falling lax upon the sensation, intimate and loving, as if a mother to a child. He almost dared to think lovers as she began to gingerly interweave her boney fingers within his platinum locks, fingers lost in an ocean of gold. And then pain._

 _He had felt her nails dig into his scalp, lips curling into an animalistic snarl as his roots burned and screamed at the force, followed by the sound of shearing. As if the strings of a lute were being cut, their threads severed and pressure falling lax. A blade sheared his mane thread after thread until he had felt an almost unbearable coldness at his nape, feeling almost vulnerable and naked, lighter. His scalp had still screamed in pain, and in the woman's clutches were hazardous clumps of golden straw. Strands of hair had held fast to her weapon, as if intestines stuck within its cold iron fangs._

 _Her head had cocked, almost coyly as she sprinkled the once proud characteristic around the man in a tease, head slowly turning towards the closet. Looking directly at them through the wooden boards. Looking directly at the boy and girl, not even eighteen years of age. The pair had froze inside, breath caught in paralyzed lungs, awaiting like lambs for slaughter-blind, deaf and dumb for the wolf's jowls to close upon their throats. Yet the Silencer did not move. Rather, she turned her attention back towards the man whose blue eyes had shone with defiance and rage._

 _The cloaked figure had once more slowly circled the man, footfalls slow and lazy in stride. The man had visibly tensed as he felt the flat edge of the blade trail across his shoulders, upper back and neck, merciless iron teeth causing goosebumps to form upon his skin. A new film of perspiration had leaked across his whole body, his heart racing. He could no longer feel the pain of the rope cutting into his wrists, nor the throbbing, screaming pain of his scalp. All he felt was the cold iron fear in his belly, and now on his skin, awaiting it's master's order to skewer his innards. He could swear the woman was now breathing more sharply, suddenly, intensely, nostrils flaring._

 _He had felt her move, a gloved hand gingerly trailing his skin, feeling the muscles dance underneath her touch. And then came the blade, softly pressing against his paling flesh, so close but so far away from drawing blood. Just a little more, just a little more was all she needed to break the integument. But she would not. She was not done toying with him. It did not matter. He knew he was not getting out alive._

 _His muscles trembled as he felt a feminine hand gently caress his chest, dagger poised towards his throat, tracing the bulge of his adam's apple as he nervously swallowed, chest clenching. He could feel her pressing her weight upon his back as she leaned over, cold breath upon his neck, the faint smell of death reaching his nostrils. He could practically feel the smirk that had toyed upon her lips._

 _The man waited. Waited for the blade to plunge into his throat, but had found it trailing-trailing down, down, down, tracing his exposed navel. He had felt her free hand drape along his neck and toy with his ear, wincing as he felt the cold fangs of the dagger feel oddly warm against his inner thigh. Pain again._

 _The man felt pain once more as she slowly, almost cautiously cut into his thigh. A thin, single line, crisp and precise of one who has years of experience. Just enough to cut the thin, fragile skin of his inner leg and draw blood upon the iron shard. The young man could swear he could hear it again; The woman inhaling behind him, nostrils flaring underneath a shadowed hood._

 _Carefully did the woman allow the a pool of crimson to rest upon the blade, stray blood trickling down his naked leg and onto the chair. The gleam of iron had flashed in the dull candlelight, stained with dark crimson as the weapon drifted towards his person once more, the flat of the dagger running against his chest, smearing his own life blood. Her hand was no longer teasing, pulling upon his ear, but instead had fallen to her side, the Silencer slowly skulking to the man's front, head cocked once more._

 _The young man had looked upon her, the cloaked figure approaching, leaning her leath frame above his, touching yet not, the woman suspended above him. She had kept herself just above his naked lap, the blonde's eyes looking anywhere but at her shadowed face. A finger had once more roamed his chest, intimate yet distant, smearing the swiftly drying blood. Pain again._

 _He had felt her blade dig into his nape, teeth gritting, breath hitching and adam's apple bobbing, blood flowing, pain sharp and hot. But it was just the tip. Just the tip. And that was enough to make his blood run, to make her lips press against his slick skin, smear blood on wet tongue and teeth. He had gasped, tied hands clenching as he felt the Silencer attach to him like a leech, groaning and gasping, intimate, yet not._

 _The woman had pulled away, blood smeared upon her pale lips as a wet tongue shimmered in the soft flame, cleaning the flesh. Her blade had once more drove into his flesh, the blonde once more flinching, though refused to groan or whimper. Blood had pooled upon her dagger, and she had steadily raised the iron weapon to his lips. He had refused, turning his head, only for the Silencer to painfully grasp his jaw, forcing him to steady and look upon her, look upon his own blood now staining the weapon of the killer._

 _The young man was helpless as she had gingerly smeared the blood upon his lips, the Silencer taking care of her canvas as she applied the paint. It was then that he had felt it, her lips upon his, hungry and eager, searching for something lost, yet near. He could do nothing, would do nothing as she felt her tongue push and swirl against his bloodied lips, felt her teeth bite with the intent to draw more blood. He had felt the Silencer shift her weight upon his lap, a hand reaching behind and toying with the uneven remains of his cruelly cut hair._

 _He had wondered where the dagger was, wondering when she would slip the metal between his ribs. He had wondered when she would stop her assault, the blonde finding it harder to breathe as she began to smother him. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe he would die from not breathing. That would be a merciful death than whatever this woman had in store for him._

 _In time, however, the woman had parted from him, lips connected with thick saliva and blood._

 _He could see her smile through the darkness, keeping them separate yet so near. He could also feel the cold iron pointed against his chest, threatening to pierce his heart. Yet instead of thrusting her dagger into his chest, the woman had tilted her blade, the illumination of the soft candle barely strengthening the reflection in the iron shard, something his eyes could not see in the darkness. Under that darkened hood was a twisted smile. And within that twisted smile lay a pair of sharpened teeth._

A sudden gasp broke the purple dragon from his slumber, heart hammering and muscles tremoring as his eyes lay wide and alert. Any exhaustion previously had left his body, and his mind's eye continued to flash visions of one thing: those teeth.

Spyro shook his head as he worked on regaining his breath. He did not understand what those creatures were, nor what was happening. What bothered him the most, however, was why the Chronicler was sending him these visions.

What did they mean?

What did they-

"Wake up, Spyro! The Council is being held in an hour!" Cynder's voice from the male's thoughts in the distance, and a ball instantly formed in his lurching stomach.

Spyro completely forgot about the Council and his presented speech.

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 **Thank you for reading. Have a good day.**

 **Also, if anyone is interested in Dragon Age, Skyrim/Oblivion or ARK: Survival Evolved Forums, feel free to look up my forums on my profile. The Elder Scrolls forum is far more active, and I just made the first ARK forum. Why? Because prehistoric creatures are fun. And the DA forum is a still born. Not that I ever expect any of my forums to take off. Some just get lucky. I find it funny. Either way, thank you for your time and look out for the next chapter!  
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